


The Acronymicon

by Lisbetadair



Category: Call of Duty (Video Games)
Genre: Bondage, Choking, Dom/sub, Face Slapping, M/M, Oral Sex, Power Play, Rough Sex, S&M, Wax Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-07-03 16:55:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15823086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisbetadair/pseuds/Lisbetadair
Summary: Pvt Ramirez is enjoying the quiet life deployed in Afghanistan, until the 141 troops in and brings trouble in the form of Lt Simon "Ghost" Riley, and his wicked smile. There's something dark about Riley, something dangerous and it's just the sort of thing that Ramirez wants.Explicitly erotic with BDSM themes and activities, between consenting adults and with all parties concerned having a great time.





	1. Chapter 1

**PART 1: FUBAR**

 

**One**

 

There were any number of shitty jobs for us Privates to take care of, but I had really struck lucky. According to Sergeant Foley, as I had shown the most aptitude for organisation, cleanliness and coffee-making, this made me best suited to the plum job of Special Accommodation Manager. Thus, it fell to me to ensure that the empty rooms of the third floor remained clean, stocked and secure in preparation for the day that our presence became graced with the sacred persons of Special Forces.

Three months passed, and whilst we all waited for that promised day, I settled into a complacent routine. I swept, mopped and dusted as I needed to, but mostly I just sat there, in the cool, air-conditioned quiet of the empty offices, away from the everyday annoyances of Afghan life and chilled out.

So, when Foley barked my name across the mess hall at breakfast, and followed up by informing me that the fateful day finally arrived: we were about to be visited by actual members of some shady special operations task force, I was somewhat pissed off. I didn’t want my pocket of serenity to be violated by the presence of other people, special forces or not. He elaborated a little further, explaining that this was a joint international operation, and so, I now represented the entire might of the US Army to these, I quote, ‘elite men of other nations’, presumably thinking that this would, in some way, sweeten the pot. It didn't.

 

Were it not for Foley’s orders to meet them as they came in the door, I would have given them time alone to get settled in, showered and then offered them hospitality, so at least I could rest my aching back, painful from the strain of single-handedly hauling linen and other supplies up the many flights of stairs all day. Instead, compelled to obey his barking I stood at ease next to a freshly brewed pot of coffee as they trooped up the stairs.

In my mind, I had formed a picture of  what to expect: barrel-chested, bearded weirdos in dirty baseball caps swaggering in as if they had melons instead of balls, carrying the sort of expensive, quality weapons a lowly Private could only dream of. Instead, half-a-dozen men, in a variety of shapes, colours and sizes, kitted out in a motley assortment of battle-dress, all of whom looked remarkably unassuming, trooped through the door, shaking off the clinging remnants of the desert. A mad-looking man with a frankly alarming mohawk, waved away my textbook saluting efforts and shook my hand whilst muttering something that I first presumed was some fringe Afghan language, but then realised was butchered English in a barely comprehensible dialect. I fell back on the standard, “Yessir!”, smiled, nodded and hoped for the best.

Colonel Ford introduced himself, and I learnt that this was their leader: Captain Mactavish. He followed it up ordering me to give him a tour of the floor, and I did, showing him the briefing room, sleeping quarters and kitchen, before I finished with the room I’d been transplanted into for the duration of their stay and the only perk to their sojourn here: I had my own private quarters whilst I acted as their steward and general dogsbody whenever they wanted something, no matter at what ungodly hour they wanted it. As far as I was concerned, it was no substitute for having the run of the whole floor in silence, but it was better than standard communal arrangements.

MacTavish said something and I must have been unconsciously adjusting my ear, because this time some of it almost made sense, or at least, I could make out some of what I thought the words were meant to be. He jerked his head to indicate something and I turned round, to find another stranger.

He filled the doorway, his shaggy, auburn hair a few inches from the lintel overhead and his thick body, as he slouched diagonally between the jambs, blocked the light of the room beyond. He leaned forward, casually resting his weight through one, meaty, forearm, his fingers rolling a Coke can around in his large hand.

I knew from his complexion that he’d been out there, roaming the Afghan desert for longer than I had. His pale skin shone an unnatural gold, dusted with a cinnamon sprinkle of freckles across his face and beneath the fine coppery hair of his arms. Whipcord muscles moved underneath, the product of long, hard days in the arid climate. His face too had lost the water-fatness of the newly deployed here, becoming chiselled at the jaw, emphasising the bone structure beneath the cheeks.

Whatever you call it, 'sex appeal’ or 'it factor’, either a guy has it or he doesn't, and this guy had it in _spades_. It wasn't  physical, as such, it was his confidence as he stood there, his louche pose as he dangled the can from its rim in a loose grip between his fingers, swinging it from side to side; it was in his sly, foxy expression, in the mischievous smile on his lips. He oozed a sensual arrogance.

I heard MacTavish’s footsteps recede behind me, but I couldn’t stop staring at the man in front of me: he was fucking _gorgeous_. When our gazes locked, his lapis eyes holding me in a steady, hunter’s gaze, I felt a sudden rush, an electric crackle over my skin, that left a tingling wake. My heart accelerated, pounding against my ribs so forcefully that I could hear every pulse of blood rushing through me. I realised I was holding my breath, and then I felt like I couldn’t remember how to breathe.

“So you're here to satisfy all our desires?” He said, his voice sudden and loud in the quiet of the landing. I startled, and that gave my body enough space to remember how to perform some basic functions. The rushing feeling ebbed a little, my brain started to process again and veteran of many Guy Ritchie film nights, and BBC soap opera repeats, I recognised the soft, gravelly tones of a Cockney Londoner, an accent that I’d never considered arousing until it came from his mouth.

“Yes sir.” I replied. I could manage no other response than what I was conditioned, automatically, to give.

He stared at me, running his eyes down my body and then back up to my face. Without breaking eye contact, holding my stare like a fox staring down its dinner, he flipped the can onto its side, and crushed it in his grip. His lips drew back into a grin and his eyes flashed, his face suddenly cruel in a way I found deeply erotic.

“I'll see you later then.” He said, and walked away.

I stood for a full half-minute in the corridor, gawping at the door he’d just shut behind him, the sound of my own rushing blood still filling my ears like television static, my pants suddenly tighter than they had been a few minutes ago as my body punched through the shock of my sudden lust into delayed, turgid arousal.

Something bothered me, but it took until I staggered back into my new room and shut the door behind me to realise what my ears had heard and my brain had finally processed.

 _Holy shit!_ I thought. _Did he… did he just come on to me?_


	2. Chapter 2

_ The first step in the development of taste is to be willing to credit your own opinion. _ I had read that somewhere, a long time ago, in a book that I’d forgotten the name of. Yet the concept had resonated somewhere in my teenage mind, and it had formed the foundation on which I began to build my sense of self. It had been an anchor in the turbulent storm of my adolescence. 

I liked me. I considered myself to be pretty hot. I had a well-balanced face, with a strong jaw, dark eyes and from my Mexican father, good hair that showed no sign of receding. Thanks to the Rangers fitness requirements, and the overwhelming monotony of this deployment lending itself to whiling away the hours in the jerry-rigged gym, I was in better shape than ever. In short, I would definitely fuck me, and therefore there was no reason why anyone that was that way inclined wouldn't want to either.

Still, my brain wasn't  _ quite _ prepared to accept the idea that this gorgeous stranger had just flirted with me about thirty seconds after meeting me, right in the middle of a US base in rural Afghanistan.

I replayed his statement in my mind  _ “So you're here to satisfy all our desires?” _

I considered the possibility that this deeply suggestive turn of phrase was just normal for him. Maybe “Satisfy all our desires” was an English meme that I failed to grasp outside of its cultural context? But it was such a charged statement, even as I said it alone in my room, in my own voice, that this seemed absurd. When I remembered him saying it, staring at me and crushing that can in his fist, it could only be entirely suggestive. 

I shivered, my balls tightening with the implications. I felt the touch of darkness in his words, in his tone, in the sudden noise of the can crumpling in his strong grip, in the twist of a cruel grin. Whatever his desires were, I knew they were big, bad ones,  _ exactly _ the kind I liked.

I shook myself, because I  _ really  _ wanted to jerk off now, but I was also fairly sure that MacTavish had mentioned, even if the finer details were lost in translation,  a classified meeting that evening, which meant I had to get things ready, tight balls or not. I sighed and got up, wincing at the pressure I put on my erection, splashed cold water on my face until it subsided, and went out.

 

Work turned out to be a helpful distraction. I brewed yet more coffee, collected donuts from the catering corps, and after several minutes of swearing at the VC equipment, set up the secure bridge to Langley. I was just standing back to admire my handiwork, when the door cycled behind me, and trouble walked in. 

Showered and changed, his hair styled so that it swept up, off his forehead and flopped back, rakishly. He had shaved the nascent, chestnut-coloured fuzz away, his face smooth. He looked incredible, and he was staring at me. Either, he was staring at me because he wanted to fuck me, or because he was getting freaked out by me staring at him like I wanted to fuck him, and God, I hoped it was the former.

My automated response system kicked in. 

“Coffee, sir?” I said, with only a slight stammer. I couldn't make eye contact whilst I spoke, or I would lose it entirely.

He smiled that smile again and my whole body tingled. I wanted him to smile at me like that for a long time. I wanted him to do things to me whilst he smiled that wicked smile.

“Tea actually.” He replied.

I mentally kicked myself. He was English, after all.

“No milk, three sugars.” he continued, and I mentally blessed all the reruns of Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels I'd endured on this deployment otherwise I'd have felt compelled to inform him that the sugar was indeed free.

I turned, and busied myself with the urn of boiling water I'd been supplied with for this very purpose. I left the bag in the mug, and went to hand it over, trying to focus on getting all my limbs to work in a coordinated fashion like a normal human being.

He sat slumped into one of the chairs, his legs spread wide and using one bent knee as a lever to rock back.

“Ain't you going to say I'm sweet enough?” He said, as I arrived at the table.

My brain short-circuited; my train of thought completely derailed. 

“With all the sugar?” He offered into the awkward silence.

I had absolutely no doubt now that he was coming on to me. Even if there was an entire English subculture based around ironic camp which I lived in ignorance of, I didn’t think twice was a coincidence. This was  _ real _ .

It took all of my nerve to look up from placing the mug on a coaster beside him, let my eyes pointedly stare at his crotch and continue to his face. When our eyes locked, the tension building as a buzzing in my scalp discharged over my skin, electric fire coursing along my nerves. 

“I certainly hope not, sir.” I replied, my voice deadly serious, and calm. I had gone all in, declaring before I saw the river, and for a horrible moment I thought I had read the entire situation completely wrong as his eyes fractionally narrowed, the upturn of his lips seeming to falter, and then he smiled that wicked smile again. He drew his lips back a fraction, exposing a sliver of teeth beyond, a barely perceptible grin created by sucking his lower lip and biting the very edge of it. I had seen that look before a thousand times, on men and women as they sized each other up. It was an expression of pure, delightful anticipation. He wanted to fuck all right. 

I don’t know what would have happened next had the lock not started to cycle, and the door opened to fill the room with bodies and noise. I covered the protrusion in my pants with an empty coffee jug and left the room, feeling his eyes burning into my back until the door slid shut behind me.


	3. Chapter 3

I waited. 

I had no choice. The classified briefing MacTavish had pre-warned me about was scheduled to last for at least two hours, bringing the close to around nine o’clock that night. As I failed to merit the security clearance, I was left to my own devices and that was not good. 

I paced my room like a caged tiger: tense, frustrated, aching. One part of me thought I should just jerk it off, relax and wait to see if he knocked on my door on some flimsy pretence, but a bigger part of me was really into the anticipation, the heady mix of anxiety and excitement, the delightful apprehension I always experienced when I knew I was headed to casually fuck a stranger, but magnified a thousand fold. Something about this guy really turned me on, even though we had spent barely a handful of minutes in the same room. He had a magnetism about him, a whiff of something devilish that hinted at sexual adventures beyond the mundane, and it drove me nuts. 

I waited, and the clock ticked inexorably, but painfully slowly towards 21:00 and then passed. The door to the briefing room didn’t slide open until a full, painful fifteen minutes later when I heard them pile out, calling to each other in a cacophony of impenetrable sounds that echoed in the landing. 

I leapt at the knock at my door, and answered it just to be disappointed: one of the Australians, who I’d mentally nicknamed “No Worries” on account of that being the only phrase I could actually understand when he spoke. Eventually, after a few gestures, I worked out that he wanted a book, and I showed him the box I’d liberated from the communal book pile in the rec room for any of their literary desires. He scrabbled about and pulled out the stack of the only magazines I could find without actually stealing from individuals: back issues of Brides and other miscellaneous wedding planners. I opened my mouth to explain but before I could start he just said “Thanks, bro!” and walked off with them tucked under his arm and a new spring in his step. I thought about it and then mentally shrugged, if I was going to criticise other people for their perversions, I was on very shaky ground. 

At my own door, I stopped, my hand about to push it open. I realised that the man, the man whose name I didn’t even know, the red-headed English stranger, had his room further along the corridor than mine, but no one had gone past my room.  I looked at his door, my throat dry. No light bled from the narrow gap at its base.

I looked back towards the briefing room, where the door had slid closed.  _ If he wasn’t in his room _ , I thought,  _ he either went to see someone else, or he was still hanging around in there. _ I knew that for the sake of security, there were bathrooms accessible only from inside, so he didn’t need to leave for that. Beneath my shirt, I felt a prickling sensation on my chest as my nipples went hard with a sudden slick of fearful excitement. I knew that I didn’t have to wait for him to come to me. I could choose to go to him. 

 

The briefing room door slid open at my command, and when I stepped through, I saw him standing there, shirtless, his back to the door.

_ Holy shit.  _ I thought.  _ This is really happening.  _

The room had changed since I’d made myself scarce after our last encounter. The sun had set, and now the securely frosted windows were black. The place seemed suddenly much smaller. Curtains had been drawn over the noticeboards, concealing the plans they had spent the last two hours making and they gave the room a much more intimate feel. I turned back to the door and keyed in the deadlock code with a one-hour time out: no one could enter without waking up the Colonel for the overrides, but I figured since it was just an hour, no one would care that much, just wait it out. 

He didn’t turn round, just carried on sipping what I assumed was more of his nauseating tea. I watched the muscles of his shoulders ripple as his arm moved, his freckled skin rising and falling in waves. I realised this was the first time I’d been given the opportunity to see the fine curve of his ass, and I was not disappointed. The fabric of his pants hugged tightly to rounded cheeks, firm and inviting.

I cleared my throat and spoke into the silence.

“Can I get you anything, sir?” I asked. I started to busy myself clearing the table, packing away the donuts they’d left uneaten and gathering the crockery onto the trolley I had wheeled it in on. I didn’t look up as he turned round to watch. 

“I’m all right, thanks.” he replied.  A non-committal reply to an innocuous question. I could infer nothing new.

I began to disconnect the video-conferencing equipment, bending down to pull the plugs from their sockets and gather the wires into neat bundles. I heard him shift behind me, walking round the table to stand a few metres away, and it gave me a flutter of pleasure in my stomach to realise that he was staring at my ass as I leaned over. 

“Rough out here in the sticks, innit?” he said. 

I closed my eyes and stood up, my fingers trembling as I put the bundle of wires down on top of the stack. I took a deep breath and said, without turning round, “I like it rough, sir.”

There was silence for a moment, and then I heard him take two steps closer. He was right behind me now, close enough to reach out and touch me. I could hear his breathing above the whir of the ventilation system.

I turned round, and his presence, this close to me, felt like a punch in the chest. He looked down at me, from no more than a few inches of advantage in height, but I felt like I shrank before him, and he loomed over me, dizzyingly huge.

“Oh,  _ really _ ?” he said, drawing the word out, his voice low, and gravelly. Pitched perfectly to make my nerves jangle in response.

I froze as he moved, his arm coming up slowly until his hand touched my face. If I had any doubt about his intentions towards me, they were long gone before he touched the angle of my jaw and ran his fingers smoothly along it, from the joint to my chin and suddenly, his lips were on mine, soft and delicate as they kissed me. 

I trembled beneath his touch, a sudden ringing sound loud in my ears and I was too absorbed by the sensation to do much else, too shocked by the unreality of the moment to do anything else other than let him kiss me.

“How rough,” he asked, his mouth inches from my own, his sweet breath hot on my skin as he spoke “Would you say you liked it?

And I told him. 


	4. Chapter 4

He just listened. He didn't grimace with disgust, or roll his eyes attempting to disguise his distaste behind jaded _ennui_. He looked me straight in the eye, his head cocked slightly to the side in a quizzical fashion, and just absorbed the information: all the details of my sordid lust to suffer at his hands. My heart hammered as I spoke, all my mental energies expended on keeping my voice calm and steady as I listed, with slowly eroding self-control, the finer details of my needs.

When I finished, he looked impassive, unreadable for a moment that stretched away into awkward, anxious discomfort. I started to panic that I had misread him, misread the whole situation and then I saw the muscles beneath his jaw move, his tongue shifting in his mouth and his eyes narrowing as if he was savouring something particularly delicious. I knew then that he was making me wait, just making me panic because he liked it, because we had already started.

“Strip.” He ordered, his voice pitched low, and the sound just above a whisper, but with such powerful authority behind it that I moved unthinking, automatically complying. He could have asked me for anything with voice. My hands trembled, the flutter of delicious fear, of what was coming, hard between my legs. I loved that feeling, I lived for it.

I undressed quickly, the buckles and buttons of my uniform clinking loudly in the oppressive silence as I laid my clothes on the table and stood naked before him, in a loose 'at ease’ stance, with my arms resting at my sides.

“Put you hands on you head, and don't fucking move until I tell you.” He said, and I jerked into position. The air conditioning whirred into life, the noise startling my heart into another rapid, staccato run. A breath of cool air wafted gently over my exposed skin, raising prickles of gooseflesh.

He bent down, crouching to come eye-level with my already stiffened dick. When he touched it, running a rough fingertip along its taunt skin, the tension in my body reached unbearable levels, approaching physical pain. He rolled the tip between thumb and forefinger, squirming the skin over the head deliciously, enough to make the urge to twitch difficult to suppress. I had let him touch me, made myself vulnerable, stripped myself both figuratively and literally. The anticipation of his desires being visited on my flesh was terrifying, but in the best possible way.

He stroked down to the base of my dick, cupped my balls in his hand and let his fingers tease the hair there, pulling it between the rough pads of his fingertips, tugging just enough to cause sharp, lancing pain to spike between my thighs. I bit back a squeal, my ass clenching, fighting the urge to move.

He paused from his work to look up at me, and when he smiled that wicked smile I had to bite my tongue. His deep blue eyes danced with a cold, sadistic fire that I found both deeply unnerving and profoundly erotic.

“You _do_ like it rough, you little slag.” He said, and his words sizzled in the air between us for a few seconds, before he stood up, and in a single fluid motion, grabbed my balls in his powerful grip hard enough that a cry involuntarily escaped me. I shuddered and clenched my fingers in my hair to keep them in place.

“Get on your knees.” he demanded.

I obeyed instantly, the cold linoleum of the floor painfully hard beneath me. I winced, working to keep my balance with my hands locked in position. It wasn't easy, but I managed.

He looked over me, looked down at me with that cruel twist in his mouth. I knew what was coming before he started to loosen his belt and unbutton his fly: his straining erection had bulged beneath the fabric since he kissed me. I felt me a shiver of delight, of pleasure, to know that I excited him with my surrender.

As he pulled his own dick free, mine stiffened still further, the blood flowing into it in a sudden, swelling surge. He held the length of himself in his hand just inches from my face, his powerful grip around the base, thick, russet hair peeking through his fingers.

“Suck it, slag.” He commanded.

I couldn't resist that voice. I took him in my mouth, hungrily devouring him, the sweet-salt taste of him, his musk filling my nose with its heady scent, when he sudden jerked back, pulling his dick free and leaving me sucking air for a second before he slapped me.

The force of it knocked me sideways and noise rang in my ears as  the sharp knife-like pain of the blow dissipated and a stinging agony took hold of my face, burning so fiercely that my eyes watered. I moaned as a sudden surge of adrenaline hit my bloodstream, amplifying the building sexual charge inside, exploding into the rush of endorphins I'd been secretly begging for.

“Get back on your _fucking_ knees, you worthless slut, and do it _properly_.” He said, his voice a distant, but demanding noise, pitched perfectly to grab my attention, demand my compliance. He stepped forward over me, his shadow eclipsing everything, and I wanted to do nothing else but obey his every command.

I pushed myself to my knees and pressed my face to him, this time, reaching round to grasp his tight ass, squeezing the hard flesh between my fingers as I had wanted to before, ecstatic that I was allowed to. I pulled his dick inside my mouth and started to work, feeling his flesh hardening on my tongue as I drew him further into my mouth.

I felt his hand on my head, his fingers kneading the short fuzz of my scalp, not hard enough to be painful, but enough to be distractingly, tantalisingly delicious. I wanted so badly to reach down and touch myself, the urge to almost unbearable, but this wasn't about me: I existed only to worship him, to obey his whims, satisfy his every desire, and I _loved_ it.

He moaned, his fingers pressing harder, clawing at the base of my neck with his nails, down to pinch the lobes of my ears between his finger and thumb, squeezing hard enough to make me whimper.

“ _Harder_.” He commanded, growling between gritted teeth.

I redoubled my efforts, the muscles of my face aching until I felt his body tensing and he moaned, a low, furious bellow. I prepared to give one final burst of energy to his coming, but he pushed my head back, forcing me to let go as he grabbed his own dick in his hands and came across my face.

I couldn’t help cringing back a little, but his grip and the fact this humiliation was _exactly_ what I craved, meant that I let him come over me in a warm spurt of ecstasy, and revelled in it, adoring my own subjugation.

He took a moment to catch his breath, and I just knelt there, my knees aching, my face dripping and my cheek still stinging. His head lolled back, his weight resting back on the table behind him and then he suddenly came to with a snap.

“Get up.” He said, still breathing hard.

I did as I was told, and he shoved me back, pushing me into the wall so forcefully that I almost lost my balance. He grabbed my neck with one hand, pressing down on my throat just enough so that I struggled for the room to swallow, but could still breath. I felt the power in his hand, and the knowledge that he could crush down, strangle me if he wanted to just excited me further.

“Fucking slag!” he growled.

Those words drove me wild, even  if I didn't really understand what a slag was, I could guess. I was nothing, a worthless slave to his whims. I felt his other hand around my dick and I gasped as he squeezed. I couldn’t help myself, a moan escaped my lips.

“Beg for it.” he demanded.

I looked into his eyes, which burned with cruel, icy fire. He bared his teeth, in a terrifying, snarl. Thrilling fear of him boiled in my gut.

“Please” I whispered. I was so desperately close now, the pressure between my legs throbbing unbearably. “ _Please_.”

His mouth widened into a merciless grin and he started to jerk his still clenched hand back and forth across my dick, tantalisingly slowly.

“ _Please_ .” I repeated, my voice a whisper, but he continued his torture, bending his head to my chest and running his tongue over my nipple, caressing it, circling it and then scraping over the delicate skin with his teeth. I felt tears of frustration start to well in my eyes, and I pleaded, _implored_ him to release me until, just when I thought I could take it no longer, he switched up a gear, working harder and faster, again and again until I felt it, like the roar of a distant tsunami approaching the shore, the climax building until I came, my body spasming uncontrollably, unable to even try to control the noises I made.

I felt his grip on me loosen and I slumped, sliding down the wall to land with a slap on the cold floor, seeing stars, my ears ringing, my skin slick with sweat, tears and semen. For a few moments, I just sat there, utterly spent. If the entire force of the Taliban had decided to come crashing down on us that very moment, I wouldn’t have been able to get up. I was truly, utterly and wonderfully _fucked_.

When he touched me, I managed to summon the energy to turn my head to look at him. He had wetted a towel and was wiping my face tenderly. I looked into his eyes, and the monster which had possessed them just moments ago had vanished. He smiled at me, a gentle smile this time, as he pressed a bottle of water into my hand and waited for me to slake my thirst.

“Thanks.” I said, when I was done, my voice hoarse and weak with exhaustion.

He slid along the floor to sit next to me, still slumped at the base of the wall. He twisted, his hand resting gently on my knee and kissed me softly, his other hand trailing from my hair, over my temple to caress my face. I’d already forgotten the softness of his lips on mine, and felt a delightful surprise at the lightness of their delicious touch.

“Thank _you_.” He replied, in a soft whisper, his forehead pressed to mine as he spoke.

“I don’t even know your name.” I said, reaching up to touch his cheek in response, tracing my fingers across the constellations of coppery freckles there. I was totally smitten.

He smiled, and let out a tiny snort of laughter before he answered “I’m just a ghost, mate.”

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ramirez's remembered quote from Chapter 2 is from Thomas Harris' Hannibal. 
> 
> The Slut Lessons blog was an invaluable resource for some of the S&M elements of this fic.


	5. SNAFU: Chapter 1

**PART 2: SNAFU**

 

I woke sore the next morning: my muscles stiff, my face still tender and my balls aching, but with the absolute certainty that it had been _totally_ worth it.

 

Heaving myself from my bed, ignoring the groans of protest from my abused body, I staggered to the sink and assessed the damage: I had survived almost unscathed bar the small, but livid bruise that had blossomed on my cheek as I slept, despite my best efforts. _Shit_ . It hurt a little when I poked it, but it also brought back the memories of how it came to be there: exploding pain and the rush of endorphins after. I winced as my dick sluggishly responded. _Definitely worth it_ , I thought, grinning.

 

Lieutenant Riley, for that was his name, apparently, and I, had made out on the floor of the briefing room for a while after. He kissed my tender face, stroked his calloused fingertips over my skin and through the fuzz of my regulation hair with a delicate lightness so incongruous with his previous attitude that had I not heard him spit insults at me, degrade me, felt his broad hand around my neck merely moments before, I would have struggled to believe that this was the same man.

 

He spoke little, and I didn't pry. He explored my body with a sensitive, inquiring curiosity, in a manner so methodical that it seemed almost scientific, as if he was carefully committing it to memory. I realised that he probably _was_ committing it to memory, paused on the edge of a dangerous foray out into the remote Afghan outback,adding the memory of my body to his carefully curated album of bygone fucks for the lonely dark of the nights ahead.

This flattery stroked my skin _and_ my ego, a little slick of self-satisfied pleasure the cherry on top of the night’s endeavours, but it also made that spark of attraction to Riley take light, fanning the embers of my desire into a burning flame.  I was prepared to forgive his cardinal sin of visibly bruising me because Riley turned me on more than anyone ever had, and there was no way that I could let last night be a one off.


	6. SNAFU: Chapter 2

**Two**

 

“What happened to your face, bro?”

 

I saw Riley making himself a cup of his nauseating tea at the counter, his back to me as I returned with more hot water for the increasingly abused coffee machine. His body stiffened at the question, and out of the corner of my eye, I watched him turn very slightly to glance subtly in my direction. I pretended not to notice.

 

A large, dark man with abundant abstract tattoos, asked the question. I had mortally offended him yesterday before by asking which part of Australia he came from, only to learn in minute and excruciating detail about the existence of New Zealand and the finer points of their vocal differences, which I still didn't understand, nor why it had anything to do with fish, or chips. For reasons left unexplained, the others called him Toad.

 

I sighed, making a show of feigning irritated embarrassment, covering for the lack of confidence in the best off-the-cuff lie I could think of on my way back from catering “I was bouncing a basketball inside, hit a ceiling tile and it landed on my face, sir.”

 

Everyone laughed, and I pursued my lips, as if I was irritated at their response, but regimental etiquette prevented me retorting. 

 

“What a fucking plum!” Riley shoved passed me without looking at me, shaking his head.

 

“Oh, now that's bold, coming from a man I once saw mortar his own firing position by mistake.” said Toad, with a smirk. 

 

“Fuck  _ off _ !” cried Ghost, slapping his hand on the table as the room erupted into derisive, snorting giggles. I could only see the back of his head, so I couldn't see if he was truly irritated at the reprimand. I would have felt sorry for him, except that I was too glad not to be the butt of anyone else's concern, and I only had to lie because of him, so I figured he should suffer some repercussion.

 

“Why did you have to bring that up?” He snapped at Toad.

 

“Because you were being an areshole,  _ again _ .”

 

“Shut it, the both of you!” MacTavish's head snapped up from his newspaper, and shot a dark look at Riley. “Christ! You're like a pack of kids!” He shook his head, and then looked up at me “Don't mind the moaning bastard. You're doing a fine job of feathering our gilded cage.”

 

“Sir?” I asked, puzzled but grateful for the change in subject of conversation, away from my face.

 

“Private breakfast.” He nodded his head towards the warmers. “Infinite amounts of decent coffee. Linen service…” He trailed off whilst he stared at me. “Any other treats planned?”

 

“Yeah. Any chance of a blowjob?” Riley had twisted round to look at me, so only I could see his face from where I stood at ease by the buffet. He wiggled his eyebrows in a way that would have seemed comedically lecherous at any other time.

 

I started at his remark.  _ What the fuck are you doing?  _  I thought. I stared at him, stunned, and the panic must have been obvious on my wide-eyed face.

 

“Too far Ghost. You’re scaring the kid.” said No Worries, shaking his head. 

 

“Put a wig on him, better looking than your last shag.” observed  Riley, turning back round and picking up his tea, apparently done with tormenting me.

 

No Worries looked up at me, considered the comparison and simply said  “Accurate.” with an indifferent shrug and went back to reading his magazine.

 

“ _As_ _I was saying…_ ” MacTavish enunciated each word for emphasis, daring anyone to interrupt him and face the consequences, but no one spoke. “You’re doing a very good job of keeping us comfortable.”

 

“Thank you, sir. Captain Ford said that this was to be the case.” 

 

“Oh really.” He raised one eyebrow. “Anyone would think he didn’t want us going outside.” He observed, dryly. 

 

“Sir?” I said. The silent, internal sigh of relief at my face and my fellating skills no longer being the focus of attention halted abruptly. Dread that this apparently innocuous line of questioning was going to take a sharp turn into undesirable territory at any moment started to build, augmented by the squirt of adrenaline that had burst into my veins with Riley’s salacious remark still lingering in my system.

 

“What do  _ you  _ think?” he asked, fixing me with a steely stare, his tone suggesting that one wrong foot might plunge me into painful territory.

 

“Um… do you wish me to speak frankly, sir?”

 

He nodded. 

 

I licked my lips, thinking about Captain Ford's warning speech prior to their arrival “You’ve earned your right to… um… independence in your work, sir. We…” I struggled to find the right, politically neutral words. “We… have yet to learn that wisdom that… um... allows you to safely deviate from standard procedure.” 

 

MacTavish inclined his head, as if he was considering this, so I went on, feeling the stares of the others on me, and the heat starting to rise over my skin.

 

“Um… I don’t think all the men would understand that yet, sir.. They might uh… .” I faltered. I could feel myself blushing. I hated that. 

 

MacTavish nodded. “Alright, don't hurt yourself.” 

 

I stopped trying to formulate my best politically sensitive reply, and breathed out, relieved.

 

“What are you doing today, then?”

 

“CQB drills in an hour, sir.” I said, keener to be on familiar ground.

 

“Oh well. I’m sure we could pop by and cheer you on, as a thank you. 

 

Oh  _ shit. _ I thought _. What the fuck have I done? _

 

They finished their breakfast and drifted away to do whatever strange and mysterious things special forces operators do, but which I suspected were the same boring things that everyone else did. I scavenged among the breakfast remains for a snack, then got on with the dishes. I was just about finished drying when the door of the kitchenette opened quitely behind me.

 

Even if I hadn’t seen his reflection in the polished steel of the coffee maker: the shock of auburn hair and pale face distorted by the metal’s curve, I like to think I would have sensed him somehow, by the sound of his movements, the scent of him in the air or the frank malevolent sexuality that oozed from his pores.

 

I paused in my drying, but I didn’t turn around to look. Yesterday, just the idea of this gorgeous man had been enough to stop me dead in my tracks, and then the idea that he was  _ interested _ in me had electrified every moment we spent in the same place. Now I knew what he enjoyed, the extent of his his capabilities, and the deeply erotic dread I felt alone in his presence twisted exquisitely inside.

 

I couldn't bear to look at him. The terrified excitement I felt anticipating a second helping of last night's feast mixed with the very real concern that to him, I was nothing more than a body to use and discard, unworthy of further concern. We hadn’t talked about what everything meant, and the certainty of knowing he returned my wanton lust, had been replaced with the sudden uncertainty that like lightning, he might not touch the same place twice.

 

The lock of the door clicked, and a tingling rush coursed from the base of my neck, cascading over my skin like sand in the wind. I felt my nipples harden beneath my shirt. I paused, letting my hands come to rest on the countertop. If I didn’t, they’d be shaking. 

 

I heard him move, step slowly but inorexably closer until I could hear him breathing just behind me. The silenced stretched for an age, the tension solidified around us until he spoke.

 

“Hi.” He said, softly, his voice close to my ear.

 

It took two slow cycles of breathing before I felt calm enough to turn towards him, but I still couldn't make eye contact. I was too thrilled, too excited that he was still interested. My heartbeat thundered in my chest, juddering like a rifle on automatic. If I looked at him properly I thought I'd explode.

 

He reached up, exactly as he had done the night before, and tilted my chin with his fingers, turning my face to see the damage he'd wrought. I had to look at him, and being caught in his deep blue eyes at this distance felt like drowning.

 

“Forgive me.” He said. His voice sounding distant to my addled brain.

 

I had already forgiven him, obviously, but his need for me inflated my ego as well as my dick. This was no one off.

 

I swallowed, my throat dry. Suddenly, a  wild, urgent desire that bypassed all my normal social brakes came over me.

 

“Make it up to me.” I said, my voice a husky, nervous whisper, but demanding all the same.  

 

I heard his breath catch, and I knew then that he wanted the same thing I did: to hurt me, degrade me, control me and fuck me until I begged for mercy. 

 

“ _ Tonight _ .” I continued, my voice low and hungry. 

 

He kissed me then. His lips on mine delicate and sudden, soft and gentle for a man who relished causing pain. I tasted the lingering sweetness in his mouth, and the bitter tannin aftertaste of black tea.

 

_ Have me _ . I thought, dizzy with the sudden maelstrom of sensation.  _ Take me. Fuck me _ . I would have had him take me right there on the kitchen floor, and to hell with consequences.

 

He trailed his hand down from my jaw slowly, across my chest and down to rest on the waistband of my pants, so tantalisingly close to my dick. His kiss shifted into a little sucking nibble of my lip as he tugged at my shirt, freeing it and then his coarse fingertips were dancing over my skin with a delicate spider’s touch.

 

He pushed my head back and kissed my jaw, working his way to my neck. His other hand slid along the crease where my thigh met my body and then grasped my crotch. I didn’t have to say anything, because my dick had answered for me, hard against his hand. I clenched my teeth, but when he squeezed, slow and hard, a tiny cry escaped me. 

 

I heard him snort softly, and I knew without looking that he was smiling that dangerous smile again. 

 

“Well...” he whispered, his mouth so close to my ear that his breath caressed my cheek. “You're quite demanding, for a filthy little slag. Hm?” I felt a sudden surge of blood fill the space between my legs, my dick hardening further with his words. He slid his hand up to the buckle of my belt and started to fumble at the buckle.

 

“I think maybe, you might pay for that later.” His eyes had taken on the cold, steel edge I loved so much, his voice so exquisitely forceful that he could have demanded anything of me and I would have complied. 

 

My brain finally punched through the fog of arousal with the one thing I needed to remember “No marks.” I reminded.

 

He made a soft noise, a sort of purring sound that sang through my whole body and made my balls feel like they were vibrating. He paused for a moment, his fingers lingering, twisting the soft peak of my nipple in an almost absent-minded fashion as he considered this.

 

“I'll need to get  _ creative  _ then.” he said, and smiled with devilish, erotic malice. 

 

I stared at him, waiting with delicious anticipation of his hands between my legs and then he let go, his hands sliding off me before I even realised that he was moving. 

 

I jerked painfully from my arousal, still feeling the ghostly touch of his fingers over my skin, to find him grinning  at me from the door, a grin that could tempt angels into sin, wicked and sensual.

 

“Tonight.” He said, winked at me, and was gone, the door unlocked and opened in the same moment as he had slipped out of it.

 

I just stood there, my mouth agape, my clothes in disarray and my dick pressed painfully into my pants. Riley had teased me into arousal with his words and then left me hanging, playing me like fucking harp.  _ Asshole _ . I thought furiously.  _ No marks indeed _ , I thought, and then I remembered his words  _ “I'll need to get creative then.” _

 

Even as I formed the phrase in my mind, the fear of him rushed between my thighs, I had to put my hand on the countertop to keep from trembling as I fumbled to zip back up my pants. 

 

Oh  _ shit. _ I thought _. What the fuck have I done? _


	7. SNAFU: Chapter 3

At ten o'clock, standing in front of Riley’s door, my body thrummed with delicious, terrified anticipation. The day had been a long, agonising ride over peaks and troughs of adrenaline, all the while the background echoes of Riley’s words reverberated in my skull at the most inopportune moments.

 

MacTavish had been true to his word, appearing to lord it over us from the viewing platform of the pit, much to the irritation of Captain Ford. My heart sank to look up and see him and Riley decked out in full tactical-casual with matching accessories, lounging like tomcats against the railing.

 

Okay, my heart sank, but other parts of me did the opposite, because Riley was normally gorgeous, but in his work clothes, as it were, he reached a level of sexual attraction that I hadn't known was achievable. There was something about the long sleeved shirt rolled up to to the elbows, the fabric concertinaed in folds around his thick, muscular arms, the top button at the neck  left undone, giving a tantalising glimpse of the faint brush of chestnut-coloured hair that covered his chest. The tactical vest, with all the accoutrements packed in, suddenly reminded me of the grab harnesses I'd seen a hundred times strapped to leather scenesters, and when my brain made the connection, it filled with a thousand images of contorted fucking. I really wanted him to wear it later, and nothing else.

 

It wasn’t what I should have been focussing on, but the extra incentive of his presence drove me harder than all of Foley’s verbal flogging. I did not want tonight spoiled by anything, particularly intruding thoughts of how abysmal I was as an actual soldier. So I pushed harder, forced myself to run faster, to deploy every goddamn piece of advice I’d been given, all the things they’d been trying to teach us, just to impress Riley, and it worked. I set a better pit time than even Allan did, and that was saying something.

 

That evening, I was half-hearted at dinner, withdrawn from my usual chatter with my squadmates and buddies. His words, shadowy hints at what he planned, echoed in my ears over and over, filling me with insatiable curiosity, an itch I couldn’t scratch. I was impossibly horny and I had do something about it.

 

I could hear the sounds of television coming from within, English voices and a roaring crowd, which silenced abruptly a few seconds after my tentative knock. I didn’t know what sexual ambush awaited me behind its blank surface, and in the in the sudden absence of noise, that heavenly, stirring fear reached a new climax, crackling over my skin, raising gooseflesh.

 

The door swung open, and Riley filled the space like he had done the first moment I saw him, except this time, he was shirtless. I don’t know why, but I found him most attractive in this half-dressed state, still in his army-issued desert camo pants and heavy boots, more than I did when I imagined him naked. Perhaps it was just learned conditioning seeing him this way before last night’s adventures, or perhaps it was just the sexual aura that he seemed to exude regardless of whether he was dressed on not, but either way, it turned me on.

 

It must have been obvious on my face, because when I looked back up his wicked smile had an edge of smug satisfaction that hadn’t been there before. He knew that I wanted him this time, and he basked in my unspoken adoration.

 

For a long moment, we stared at each other and then his eyes flicked away from my face, checking behind me to ensure there were no watchers before he said, with a jerk of his head. “Come on in.”

 

I stepped over the threshold into the dimly lit room beyond. The only light came from the reading lamp on the desk, which served only to cast looming shapes across the walls beyond. The rest of the sparse room was in shadow. I had to step close to him, he barely moved out of the way to let me past the sweeping arc of the door and then, as he pushed it shut, he pressed into me, forcing me back against it, his arms locked straight at the elbow, hands pressed to the wood either side of my head. He loomed over me, his face half in darkness, inches from my own, the lamplight glinting off his hungry grin.

 

“You scared, slag?” he asked, his voice the low, growling whisper that I enjoyed so much.

 

I was _terrified,_ and loving it.

 

At the edge of my vision his hard, pale body glowed in the dim light, the rise and fall of his exposed muscles delineated in ripples by dark shadows. This close I could smell nothing but him: the clean, sharp scent of his just-washed skin, a lingering flash of acrid propellant and the unmistakable peaty iodine of Scotch on his breath. He smelled of dark nights, dirty sex and secrets.

 

“Yes, sir.” I answered.

 

He leaned closer, his shadowed face only inches from mine, his stare unbroken until the last second when the tension between us turned into palpable pressure and he dropped his gaze away, his face moving beneath mine to press his lips to the edge of my jaw, a delicate kiss on the sensitive skin of my neck so incongruous with what I expected that it left me dizzy.

 

“Good.” He said, his breath on my skin like the desert wind. I forced myself to remain there, as his soft snarl filled my ears. I felt a soft flutter against my cheek as he blinked, his eyelashes touching my skin with the delicate brush of a moth’s wing. “Cause you should be.”

 

I gasped, the noise sudden and involuntarily ragged. I held in so much tension that I couldn’t help it. Riley snorted softly, tasting my fear like fine wine. His whispered breath in my ear caressed my skin with imperceptible lightness as he spoke, but his words carried an almost physical weight. Threats. Promises. Signals. I had never reached my limits before, and the realisation that whatever Riley’s creative urges had planned, he was thinking that he might be taking me close to them scared me, thrilled me in a way I hadn't realised was possible.

 

“Yes, sir.” I acknowledged. I couldn't moderate the tremor in my voice, so I stopped trying.

 

“I think you need to be taught a lesson, slag.” Said Riley “About respecting who's in charge.”

 

My stomach looped inside my belly. “Yes sir.” I said.

 

“Take your clothes off. _Now._ ” He put force in the last word, and the change in tone made me tremble. His eyes had that cold, sadistic gleam again.

 

He had backed away, watching me undress with evident relish and now he leaned against the opposite wall sliding a loop of rope between his fingers, playing with it as he watched me, regarding my stiffened dick with quiet contemplation. The realisation of his intentions felt like a hand twisting my guts inside.

 

I had a _thing_ about being tied up, or rather, I had a thing about the _idea_ of being tied up, and having acts of pleasure and pain wrought upon my body beyond my control, to be entirely bound into the thralls of ultimate subjugation, but it was a fantasy. I'd never been intimate enough with anyone to bring it up, let alone _try_ it. The idea turned me on, but being presented with the shocking reality sobered me instantly.

 

I stared at the rope, listening to the soft, slithering sound as it slid through his fingers, letting the noise fill my ears, the sliding motion between his hands eclipse all else. He stopped, and I shook myself from my teetering uncertain trance. I looked up at his face, working hard to keep the terror I felt at bay.

 

He returned my stare impassively, his head inclined quizzically whilst he waited for me to pass judgement. His expression had changed, the cruel twist to his mouth dissolved away into a more neutral line. He waited, sensing my apprehension at this new development.

 

I shivered, standing naked in the air conditioned cool. My uncertainty wobbled on a knife edge, my mind whirling with thoughts and images: last night as he slapped me hard enough to knock me sideways, exactly as I had wanted him to, then I flashed onto his fingers exploring my skin as we made out on the floor of the briefing room. He had given me everything I wanted, and I trusted him to do it again, but this wasn't just rough sex, this was high-concept, ritualistic sadomasochism, and it scared me. It went further than I ever had before, made me acknowledge the desires I kept secret. It wasn't just about the pain, it was about the intimacy, of sharing a part of myself so deeply hidden, letting it all out, that really scared me.

 

Yet, would I ever find anyone else who could give me what I wanted, would do exactly as I asked, and was so fucking hot? I knew that I could search for the rest of my life, until my skin was as wrinkled as a my balls, and I would never find a man that did it for me like Riley did.

 

I breathed out.

 

“Sir?” I asked.

 

The evil edge to his expression returned in an instant, his eyes narrowing, his mouth curling into a derisive snarl.

 

“On the bed.” He ordered, and the commanding force of his words sizzled down my spine, over my skin, sending my nipples hardening into prickling peaks.

 

I crossed the few feet to it and lay down, so distracted by everything else that I only realised at the last few moments that the pillows had been placed halfway down it, rather than at the end, and they were bound with tape into bolsters to elevate my bare ass in the air as I lay prone. My hard dick pressed back uncomfortably on the fabric, forced unnaturally backwards in its turgid arousal.

 

When he touched me, brushing his fingers on my leg,  it took every ounce of my will to keep still as he stroked his fingers gently across the bone of my ankle before I felt the sudden touch of the rope looping over my skin. I focussed on breathing, trying to will my body from its terrified state of clenching fear into relaxation, but I failed. Every tiny sensation was maximised by the surging adrenaline pouring into my blood.

 

He secured one leg, then the other, before trailing his fingers along my leg to cup my balls in his hands. I couldn't stop myself, a tiny whimper of fear escaped me as he closed his fingers, rolling my them gently in his palm. It felt _divine_ , and the knowledge that I couldn't move, that I had to submit to this, to all his desires, excited me even further. Blood surged between my legs, and I fought the urge to grind into the pillows as the fabric pressed against me, the rough weave of cheap sheets generating delicious friction on my already throbbing dick.

 

His hand slipped away, tracing an invisible line over my ribs that made me squirm. I couldn't look at him as he secured my wrists, so it was a complete shock when it went suddenly dark as he looped cloth over my eyes, blindfolding me. A tiny gap in a the fabric let a chunk of light in, and I saw his hands for a second as he pressed a balled pair of socks into my mouth. Whatever he planned, he expected it to cause enough reaction that he needed to gag me, and that absolutely thrilled me.

 

I lay there, trussed and bound like meat, helpless and vulnerable to his creative plans, and felt the shivering reach an uncontrollable trembling. I could barely control my excitement. I strained to hear some clue as to his plans, an erotic dread building inside in the oppressive silence. I heard music start, a thumping instrumental baseline to drown out any noise.

 

The first drop of wax hit me moments later, a brief, incandescent agony on my naked skin. For a moment, pain tunneled through my flesh, and I writhed against my bindings, trying to escape this delicious torment. I couldn’t help myself, I moaned, the noise muffled as I bit down on the improvised gag.

 

A few seconds later, the pain receded, and I felt the beginnings of an insufferable, marvellous itch until more fell, this time landing on the opposite cheek of my ass. I clamped my jaw shut on the noise I wanted to make, breathing ragged gasps through my nose as the sharp burn peaked and receded into dull irritation. I felt dizzy as my body panicked, the shuddering breaths forcing the air from my lungs, leaving my fingers tingling. I loved it, but I had to fight it. I focussed on the beat of the music, tried to time my breaths to the rhythm as more wax rained down on my trembling skin, sending me squirming against my bonds.

 

I felt like it went on for hours, each new drop of pain over my skin: the back of my thighs, my balls,  released another rush that left my head whirling. I loved it, thrilled by the fact that I didn’t know which part of me would suffer next, still being unable to see beyond the crack of light by my nose, all clues from the noise he made muffled by the throbbing beat of the music.

 

I ground myself into the pillows further and further, my dick hardening  with each new agony evolving into a wild itch as the sear faded. Even if I could see and hear I didn’t think I’d be able to focus on much else beyond the furious, prickling aftermath. I didn’t even notice when he spread the cheeks apart until it was too late, the weight of his body pressing through his fingers, and poured a long stream of red-hot wax into the hidden, delicate skin between them.

 

I screamed that time, driving my face into the mattress, as the hot wax streamed between my legs, flooded and ran in searing rivulets over me. I couldn’t control myself as I writhed, split between desperately wanting to it stop and never stop as my balls twitched closer to climax.

 

It never came.

 

The flow of wax stopped, began to cool, enveloping me in its warm embrace. I felt myself start to come down, the euphoria of near-orgasm begin to dissipate and then he spoke, close to my ear.

 

“Oh. I’m not finished with you yet.” He said.

 

I ground my pelvis into the pillows as he spoke. My skin tingled where the wax had scalded it, a delicious feeling. I wanted it hotter, wanted it to run in rivers over my body. I didn't want it to ever end.

 

He clawed his fingers over my skin, lifting the coating of wax away as the nails scraped my flesh. I felt the weight of his body on my legs, his hands gripping my ass hard, and then the delicious warm, wet caress of his tongue slithering between my cheeks. I groaned, biting hard on my makeshift gag, twice aroused by the sensation of what he was doing to me and the egocentric rush that came from knowing it was Riley doing it.

 

I thought of his face, his piercing lapis eyes with their evil sparkle, the sadistic twist of his smile and ground my pelvis into the pillows beneath me as he nibbled between my cheeks, his breath hot on my wet skin, his tongue sliding and then probing, slick and hard.

 

“Oh no.” he said, laughing, sensing that I was close. “You’re not going to come until I’m fucking you.”

 

 _Oh God, no!_  I thought. I wasn’t sure how much more of this I could take before I climaxed. Even the thought of Riley driving his dick into me made my balls twitch again.

 

But he was an expert, and he made me wait, driving me so close to the edge of climax and then retreating. He worked me over with his tongue, his hands and teased me with the tip of his dick just resting on the rim of my asshole with just enough tantalising pressure before he laughed and pulled away to torment me some more.

 

He made me beg in gasping sobs, as I tried in vain against my bonds to press back into him when he teased me. He humiliated me, subjugated me, degraded me and I loved every single second.

 

Finally, he gripped hard around my hips and pushed himself inside, and I moaned as I bit the sheets so hard the fabric tore between my teeth. The feeling of his dick inside, the pressure of him filling me was pure ecstasy.

 

“Fuck me.” I whispered. “Please, _please_ fuck me.” I gasped.

 

He laughed, and in my mind’s eye, I knew he smiled that cruel smile, knowing that he had me completely at his mercy as he started to thrust gently, pushing himself further inside with each movement until his balls pressed into mine, rubbing the still sore, scalded skin in a way I loved. He reached forward and I felt the pressure around my wrists loosen as he cut the bonds, allowing me to move, to press back into his thrusts.

 

The hot friction of his thrusting movements filled me with pleasure as he slowly pushed himself deep inside me, rhythmically driving himself into my ass. I was so close already that I could hardly bear it.

 

I felt the climax start to build, my balls tightening, my dick throbbing so hard that it almost hurt and then I came, my body juddering with pleasure, pressing my face to the sheets to mute my screams.

 

_Fuck… Yes._

 

My awareness of my surroundings faded in and out of the euphoric afterglow of endorphins and orgasm. I felt him withdraw, and then I sort of drifted off into my own dreamy place until he pulled off my blindfold, and the suddenly bright light of the dim room assaulted my eyes.

 

He had freed my ankles whilst I rode down my high, and the music had switched from pounding bass to a more chilled out rhythm. I let him roll me off the bolstered pillows and climb into the bed beside me, pressing his warm body to mine in the tight space of the cot, wrapping a protective arm around me as he pulled the blanket over our naked skin.

 

He pressed me so close that I could hear the bounding pulse of his heart, thumping against his chest almost in time to the beat in my ears, and stroked his fingers over my head, kissing me softly on my sweat-slicked forehead.

 

I was safe there, warm and protected by his body, soothed by the great bass thumping of heart, and knew I was in love.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was written on the assumption the US Army has nice, cheap paraffin candles with a melting point suitable for wax play. Stay safe, kids!


End file.
